Sewing Lesson
by SunnyRea
Summary: Laurens attempts to repair a pair of breeches, Hamilton arrives to rescue the project. -Historical, Lams-


Alexander Hamilton climbs the stairs inside Washington's headquarters at Valley Forge with a long yawn. The sun is not quite set, yet he is still weary from seemingly endless French translations. With Baron Von Steuben arrived not much more than a week past, the new reports, requests and plans from the Baron's quarter have been quite numerous. Hamilton, John Laurens and Tench Tilghman have had much of their time devoted to these documents and turning them into more commonly understood English.

Up on the second landing, Hamilton passes the General's bedroom and heads straight toward the room he shares with Laurens. Robert Hanson Harrison, Richard Kidder Meade and Tilghman currently share the larger room while John Fitzgerald and James McHenry are consigned to the garret, though Hamilton knows that Fitzgerald at least often takes his pallet down to their office on the first floor and sleeps by the fire instead.

"Wise decision," Hamilton mutters to his own thoughts.

The winter has hit strong in Pennsylvania, decimating much of their troops. While they aides-de-camp are fortunate to reside inside a physical building, the rooms still feel chill and the attic level most of all. Hamilton prefers the room, and bed, he is fortunate enough to share with Laurens.

As Hamilton reaches the closed door to his bedroom, he hears a muffled curse from the other side.

Hamilton frowns then raps once on the door. "Laurens?"

He hears a heavy sigh from the other side. Hamilton decides to take that as permission to enter and opens the door.

Hamilton steps in and closes the door behind him. "Laurens, what is amiss?"

Laurens stands in front of the dresser in the corner with what appears to be a veritable tailor's shop worth of fabric laid out in front of him and circled around him on the floor. Hamilton recognizes a pair of breeches among the mess of tan cloth. The rest appears to be cuttings from a larger roll at Laurens' feet.

"Have you robbed a tailor, Laurens?"

Laurens glances at him and sighs again. "I have not. James brought the fabric as my breeches are near tearing with their threadbare state and must be reinforced."

"James?" Hamilton asks with a frown.

Laurens gives him a dark look. "My father's slave." Laurens makes a grumbling sort of noise. "I fear for the man's health with how my father sends him riding through such snow."

"Ah... yet it was you who needed…"

"Yes, Hamilton, you can blame me as I requested the fabric but..." Laurens sighs again. "My father is in Philadelphia and I have told him of my black regiment plans and should James wish –"

"Laurens..."

"He is a good man, Washington has even used him, and I would free him myself were the laws not –"

"Laurens," Hamilton says again, this time stepping closer to touch Laurens' arm. Laurens stops talking and looks at him with some sort of surprise. "As well I understand your feelings on the slavery issue and your own father's opinions on the matter, I am more concerned at present as to why it appears you have decided to butcher the cloth you requested so?"

Laurens looks down at the pieces of fabric before him, a pair of scissors Hamilton now sees among the mess as well as some thread; likely a needle is lost among the chaos as well.

"Well, I…" Laurens clears his throat and does not meet Hamilton's eye. "As I said, my breeches need reinforcing."

"Yes?"

Laurens gestures to the breeches. "I thought to use them as a guide and cut the needed pieces and then... well..."

Hamilton bites his lip to keep from laughing as Laurens' trouble becomes all too clear. "You are attempting to mend your own breeches?"

Laurens shoots him a look, needlessly straightens his waistcoat, his blue uniform coat draped over the chair in the window at present, then looks at the cloth again. "It seemed simple enough."

Hamilton huffs a laugh at that. "Laurens, have you sewed clothing before?"

Laurens worries his lip and does not look at Hamilton.

"Have you sewed anything?"

"I sewed a button on my cuff after it was torn off at Germantown," Laurens says, his tone of voice with a sort of wounded pride to it.

"I see."

"Alexander, do not mock me," Laurens says in a huff, pacing away from the dresser, shuffling his boot over a small scrap of fabric on the floor.

"I do not!" Hamilton insists. "I simply –"

"Simply wish to show my ignorance!"

"John, my lovely John." Hamilton turns Laurens around by his shoulders then rubs his hands over Laurens' arms in a soothing manner. "No man knows all things in the world. That you lack the knowledge of a tailor or seamstress does make you less a man; certainly not in my eyes."

Laurens cracks a bit of a smile at that and sighs once more. "But it does make my treatment of this fabric quite poor." Laurens glances around at the rumpled fabric with a frown.

Hamilton grips Laurens' chin then turns Laurens' head back toward him. "Do not distress. I am sure we can salvage use from what you have."

"You place great faith in me."

Hamilton rises up onto his toes and presses a kiss to Laurens' downturned lips. "I do."

Laurens stares at him, his expression widening into a smile. He kisses Hamilton back, his hands coming up to rest on Hamilton's sides. He murmurs, "My dear boy..."

Hamilton smiles at him, kisses him once more then shifts back down onto his feet. Laurens watches him with a bemused expression on his face. "So, Hamilton, what would you have me do?"

Hamilton walks over to the fabric, picking up pieces to see what destruction or lucky use Laurens has made of the bolt. "As it happens, fortunately for you Laurens, I have sewed many a garment in some form in my life."

"Have you?"

"When one must stretch the use of a shirt or breeches beyond what it may wish, one becomes creative with patches and sewing." He looks up at Laurens. "I believe we may save your fabric and breeches yet!"

Hamilton frowns suddenly and looks at Laurens wearing shirt and waistcoat and breeches and boots. "Whose breeches do you wear? If you have but one near serviceable pair at present..."

Laurens clears his throat. "Tilghman had left some clothing on his bed..."

Hamilton laughs once hard. "Did you ask him if he should mind you wearing his clothing?"

Laurens looks away. "I had assumed my sewing should not take long..."

Hamilton raises his eyebrows. "Ah, not long. And how not long would this have been?"

Laurens frowns again. "Yes, yes, we have established I cannot sew, Hamilton, your point is made!"

Hamilton chuckles as he picks up a piece of fabric Laurens clearly attempted to cut in the shape of one leg of his breeches. "My pampered southern gentleman."

Lauren purses his lips and paces across the floor. "As though you would not wish money enough yourself to be so!"

Hamilton glares at Laurens. "You need not be uncivil."

Laurens deflates instantly. "My apologies Hamilton, I do not mean offense." He forces a smile. "Such ignorance in myself frustrates me."

Hamilton holds up the somewhat leg-like shape with a smile. "Then I shall endeavor to be your professor, Laurens."

Laurens purses his lips, his eyes sliding lower. "I would rather you teach me other things."

Hamilton laughs once. "As though you need my instruction."

"Why Hamilton, I am sure you have more you could teach me. We all have talents."

Hamilton breathes in deeply and considers ignoring Laurens' fabric mess and using the bed they share for something more than sleeping. However, he knows Fitzgerald is upstairs and Meade reading in the bedroom next door.

"Perhaps I should save your breeches first so you might return Tilghman's without him the wiser."

"Ah," Laurens huffs. "Tench should certainly not be upset at my borrowing these."

Hamilton chuckles once. "Perhaps. Now," Hamilton continues, "shall we save your breeches?"

Laurens smiles. "Only if you wish me to wear them."

Hamilton stares at Laurens for a moment then turns and picks up the scissors. He cuts along the edge of the one piece to make it small enough for use. "You do make a compelling argument against my aid."

Laurens only smiles watching Hamilton cut.

"If you are to reinforce the inside of your breeches," Hamilton explains as he cuts. "The fabric piece must fit inside."

Hamilton puts down the piece and picks up Laurens' breeches turning them inside out. "Do you plan to reinforce the entire garment?"

"It is near holey."

Laurens shows Hamilton the offending portions of the knees and the bottom cuffs as well as along the top buttons.

Hamilton makes an 'hmm' noise. He picks up the larger, as yet uncut, bolt and hands it to Laurens. "We can start with the back of each leg and connect them at your most beautiful rear."

Laurens chuckles. "It is not inside these breeches as present."

Hamilton leans back and slides his hand over Laurens' ass, squeezing once. "I noticed."

Laurens drags his hands over Hamilton's hair and down his neck before Hamilton steps back toward the dresser. He pushes the other scraps Laurens made in error to the floor and lays down the breeches. He matches his newly cut piece to one leg, covering half of the seat.

"As this is only a repair you would sew it along the edges, close to your original seams, you see?"

Laurens nods where Hamilton points. "And this should be better?"

Hamilton shrugs. "It is still a patch, Laurens. You will need new breeches. Your reinforcement will only hold so long."

Laurens raises his eyebrows. "I work with what I have available, Hamilton. Supplies are short even in Philadelphia and even to a man of means."

Hamilton nods. "As we are all well aware."

Hamilton glances around the dresser top and sees a few pins which Laurens must have found with the thread and pins the cloth to the breeches at five points near the top and bottom, one in the middle. It is not ideal but nor is Hamilton a true tailor. Life after his mother's death in the Caribbean allowed little money for new clothes so he often added patches to his breeches or coats as best he could. His aunt showed him how to thread a needle, a few simple stitches and he did as he could. In the army, such skills prove more useful than most men would care to admit. While some have camp followers who they can pass off their washing or mending needs to, there are not always enough women willing or able to help, not to mention a dearth of supplies.

"How did you learn such sewing, Hamilton?" Laurens asks Hamilton quietly.

Hamilton looks up, thread in hand. Laurens holds up the needle in one hand, the bolt of cloth still in his other.

Hamilton takes the needle, swallows once then smiles. "An eclectic upbringing, Laurens."

"The Caribbean causes many tears in clothing?" Lauren pushes.

Hamilton turns back to the project. He looks at the needle and thread in his hand. He remembers patches that did not match; how he tried to find colors to disguise the fact that the garment he wore was no longer whole.

"As much as any." He threads the needle, pulls out a length then cuts it off. "Now we shall see to your breeches."

Hamilton sews the new fabric onto the left leg of Laurens' breeches. Laurens stands close at his shoulder, watching his fluid motions.

"What if the thread should break?" Laurens asks as Hamilton sews up the inner line of the leg.

Hamilton snorts. "What if any thread should break in any garment?"

Laurens leans over, bolt of fabric dropped to the floor, folding himself around Hamilton. Hamilton did not realize how chill he felt until Laurens' body starts to warm him. After a minute of their enveloping embrace and Hamilton's work, Laurens takes the needle from Hamilton's hands and tries a few stitches. His hands move slower and more unsure than Hamilton's sewing. Hamilton watches Laurens' hands, leans back against Laurens' body.

"You shall have another line of seams now on the outside," Hamilton remarks quietly. "Two rows side by side."

"I am sure none but you should notice."

Hamilton makes an 'hmm' noise. "You may think."

"Ah, many scrutinizing tailors among our ranks?"

Hamilton tips his head back so he can press a kiss to Laurens' neck. "I imagine the cold occupies all thoughts more."

Laurens makes a pleased noise at Hamilton's kisses. "Perhaps my breeches..." He sighs. "...shall be warmer now."

Hamilton turns his head again, taking the needle back from Laurens. "Marginally so."

Laurens' stitches are slightly wider than they should be, somewhat sloppy but Hamilton's stitches are hardly a maestro's, so he cannot fault Laurens.

"Why borrow Tilghman's breeches?" Hamilton asks as Laurens nuzzles his nose into Hamilton's hair.

"His were at hand."

"And not my own?"

Laurens pulls back so Hamilton may turns his head to look at him. Laurens raises one eyebrow. "You think I should fit in your breeches?"

"You have fit such in them before."

Laurens' lips quirk, his eyes flicking quickly down Hamilton's front. Then he looks up again. "The cuffs under your knees would not lie on me where they must and should not close."

Hamilton huffs, finishing the last stitch on this leg, tying off the thread and cutting the needle free.

"You need not admonish my height so."

"Did I call it a negative?" Laurens props his chin on top of Hamilton's head and twists the buttons of Hamilton's coat in his hands. "I find you perfect."

"Oh yes, perfect to taunt."

"Alexander..."

"I think perhaps I shall leave your breeches as they are." He stabs the needle into the fabric. "One leg reinforced should be enough, yes?"

Laurens pulls back and twists around Hamilton to stand beside him. "I do not taunt you, my beautiful man." He touches Hamilton's hair and his cheek. "How could I improve upon your perfection?"

Hamilton tries to keep his smile down but cannot stop himself under the praise from one so dear to him. "You flatter me only for the sake of our uniform."

"I flatter you for the sake of you and what you should know."

"And?"

"And my breeches."

Hamilton laughs. "Well, your breeches seem perfect, do they not?" Hamilton gestures at the half-finished project hanging off the dresser. "You could wear them now."

"Ah, you would prefer I strip and try them for size, should they need further adjustment?"

Hamilton's mouth gapes for a moment then he presses his lips together. Laurens smirks at him. "It is a pity the sun is not quite set yet and our fellow aids not sleeping or I should remove all your clothes."

Laurens smiles. "To see if I should require more patches and sewing?"

Hamilton nods then says, "No."

Laurens holds out his hand toward Hamilton. He points at the scissors. Hamilton, however, picks up what remains of the bolt of cloth. He rolls it out over the breeches and cuts out another leg for the rear of the pants.

"You need not fix my entire breeches, Hamilton," Laurens says. "I have watched enough from you to fumble a manageable repair on my own."

Hamilton puts down the scissors and looks at Laurens. "You would refuse my help?"

"I would not force you into more labors after all we have done this day and will tomorrow."

"It is but a small labor."

Laurens reaches out and pulls Hamilton close to him. "Thank you for what you have done thus far. You may leave me to it and lie down. I know you awoke more than an hour before myself this morning. You deserve a rest."

"Before I descend stairs once more? Our translation is not done."

Lauren nods. "I am aware and after you rest we shall resume together."

Hamilton rises onto his toes again and kisses Laurens once. "You worry for me?"

Laurens kisses him back. "Always. With your illness before your return here..."

"Stop," Hamilton says, staying on his toes and gripping Laurens' face in his hands. "I am well; I have been well for many weeks now."

Laurens nods. "I know."

"Yes, you do, so do not worry."

"The cold and so many men without proper clothing and we do have this house but –"

"But I am well," Hamilton interrupts. "You see me here."

"And rest cannot harm you."

Hamilton kisses Laurens once more before dropping back into his heels. "If I sit a moment will you be content?"

"Yes."

Hamilton shifts around Laurens and moves to sit on the bed. As he shifts his weight back, however, he grips Laurens' hips and pulls him down under the canopy with him. Laurens make an 'oof' noise of surprise, ducking his head in time and landing in Hamilton's lap, one knee on the bed and his other leg stretched out behind him. Hamilton tickles at the bend of Laurens' knee so he chuffs and pulls his other knee up onto the bed.

Hamilton runs his hands up Laurens' thighs. "Tilghman's breeches fare far better than your own."

Laurens chuckles, running his fingers along Hamilton's neck and into his curls. "Would that I could keep them."

"Ah, but would you leave poor Tilghman lacking so?"

Laurens shakes his head. "I could never." He purses his lips. "McHenry..."

Hamilton laughs, leans up and kisses Laurens' neck. "But then you must wear his breeches."

Laurens scoffs. "I would not have ass enough to fill into his breeches."

Hamilton laughs, "Oh my, a jest such as this and you barely know the man yet!"

"And he is a doctor as well as an aide." Laurens make a face. "I have a sense."

Hamilton snorts and tickles at Laurens' sides. "A sense of humor I suppose."

Laurens smiles then rests his forehead against Hamilton's with a happy sigh. "You are warm."

Hamilton chuckles. "My Caribbean blood."

"Your red hair, perhaps."

Laurens runs his hands over Hamilton's cheeks and into his hair then back again. Hamilton could fall into the feeling; his eyes closed, content, and lean into the touch of Laurens for hours.

"You in my arms," Hamilton whispers.

"In your lap."

Hamilton kisses Laurens' jaw, nuzzles his nose against Laurens'. "My dear John."

Laurens breathes in deeply, kisses Hamilton's lips; his hands pull at Hamilton's cravat. He fingers are cool on Hamilton's warm skin under the cloth. Hamilton feels himself leaning up, kisses making him drunk on Laurens, his weight over Hamilton and the promise of all that could bring.

Hamilton breathes in deeply. "John?"

"Yes?" Laurens murmurs through kisses on Hamilton's lips.

"Your breeches."

Laurens pulls back so he may look at Hamilton. He sighs and smiles. "And our translating for the evening?"

"Mmhmm."

Laurens presses his forehead against Hamilton's, kisses him again. Then he scoots back over Hamilton's lap, his one hand trailing across the front of Hamilton's breeches so Hamilton cannot stop a sharp inhale. Then Laurens ducks back under the canopy and stands up. He takes two steps back toward the dresser watching Hamilton. Hamilton thinks the expression on Laurens' face looks like love and his body – his lips, his thighs, his breath, the softness of his hair, the roughness of his hands, the intimacy of his kisses – feels like home.

"I will finish here then join you soon."

Hamilton smirks then stands up from the bed again. "You believe you will be fine without my help?"

"I will be well enough. Should I not be, then you may fix them again in my error."

Hamilton nods then turns toward the door.

"Hamilton?"

Hamilton turns back. Laurens smiles at him, glances away then looks at Hamilton again. Hamilton steps close so Laurens looks down at him. He rises up on his toes again, making Laurens smile, and kisses him. He feels Laurens smiling as if in laugher.

"Do you find this..."

"Endearing?" Laurens fills in, glancing down at Hamilton up on his toes.

"If you were not so tall."

"If only."

Hamilton kisses him once more than stands normally, fully on his feet. "Hurry or I shall grow cold downstairs without you beside me."

Laurens smiles sheepishly. "You need not charm me."

"I wish to."

Hamilton turns and walks back through the door, leaving Laurens to his new endeavor as tailor. As Hamilton descends the stairs, back toward the aide-de-camp office, he meets Tilghman on the stairs.

"Ah, Hamilton!" Tilghman says. "I seem to have misplaced a pair of breeches. You have not happened to see any about?"

Hamilton stares at him for two beats then shakes his head. "I have not."


End file.
